


Shorala

by Fiona James (Bluewolf458)



Category: Star Trek
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 12:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11509206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluewolf458/pseuds/Fiona%20James
Summary: In a universe where Earth does not have spaceflight, 12-year-old Jim (Kirk) has been kidnapped by Vulcan slavers. Initially sold to a brothel, he is resold eight years later (as being too old to serve there) and bought by Sarek as a personal slave for his son Spock, a replacement for Spock's well-loved previous slave, who has died.Spock is aware that since his kidnap Jim has been abused; Jim is aware that Spock still misses his dead slave.





	Shorala

**Author's Note:**

> First printed in Duet 8

Shorala

by Fiona James

Jim was confused and unhappy. One moment, or so it seemed, he had been running along the river bank with his friends; the next, he and Dave and Billy were here, wherever 'here' was - a building of some sort, its occupants tall, sallow, dark-haired, with slanting eyebrows and pointed devil's ears. And not only he and Dave and Billy; there were other boys too, and some girls, all of them, like himself, some twelve years old.

They had been stripped and examined carefully, apparently by a doctor, and given new clothes - loincloths for the boys, loose short shifts for the girls - and collars of a lightweight metal had been snapped round their necks. Jim could feel the join where the collar fastened, but failed to find the secret of the catch that held it in place.

Now they were being taught the language of their captors - a hard, guttural language not easy to pronounce, but under a system of harsh discipline they made quite remarkable progress. Their captors did not seem to mind if their speech was ungrammatical, just as long as they could understand instructions and answer questions fluently enough to be understood. They remained in their prison for some time, though it was difficult to be sure just how long they were there; the building remained fully lit at all times, they were fed at reasonably frequent intervals, but apart from the language lessons they had nothing to do; they slept when they were tired, for there was nothing  to tell the when it was 'night'

Finally the day came when they were herded into another room, which then seemed to move for an indefinite period, and then the door was opened and they were ordered out.

They moved into another, larger room. As the last of them left the moving one, there was a clanging noise and a barred gate slid across the room behind them; the moving room slid away, and they could see that beyond the bars was open air. It should have been refreshing after so long locked up, but the breeze that blew over them was hot - too hot for comfort. The scenery before them, too, was unlike anything any of them had ever seen; bare desert land, arid, reddish soil with no touch of green to break the monotony and lend an illusion of freshness.

Soon, some more of the aliens came, to examine them carefully through the bars; but then they moved on, and others took their place. After a while a small door (that none of them had noticed) in the back of the cell was opened, and several men entered. The captives were led out, one child at a time, in quick succession. When Jim's turn came he couldn't understand why they hadn't all been moved together, for he was simply taken along a short corridor and into another room. The only difference was that all the boys in the room were fairish-haired, and there were no girls.

Finally, all the boys in the room - a few more were brought into it after Jim - were moved again, and taken into a vehicle of some kind. It moved away from their prison, taking them... who knew where. Jim could only guess at the fate of his friends, for he never saw them again. He could only assume that it was similar to his own

At last they were taken out of the vehicle and pushed, not ungently, into yet another room and given food - a tasteless porridge - and left. Eventually, exhausted, they slept, not even uncertainty about their eventual fate serving to keep any of them awake.

***

In what Jim supposed was the morning, the aliens again came for them, taking them out one by one. There was longer between times than on the previous day, and when his turn came, Jim realised why.

His loincloth was removed; naked, he was forced up onto a dais, to stand exposed to the view of a fairly large crowd, all, as far as he could see, male. An alien gripped his arms, swung him round, made him walk across the dais and back. A voice called a word, and Jim suddenly realised what it was; he heard very little of the bidding that followed, for he was too busy trying to come to terms with the fact that he was being sold. Sold! He was only aware of the voice that said, "Sold to S'tavrik."

There followed a period of confusion; finally he found himself in an ornately tapestried room, still naked, being carefully studied by the lean alien who had bought him. The man's hands touched him reflectively, intimately, while dark eyes carefully studied his response. At last the man nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Yes, you will do. You have a most responsive body, boy. My clients will certainly find you desirable." He saw the puzzled look in Jim's eyes and smiled slightly. "This is a House of Pleasure, boy; and your body will give my clients much pleasure."

***

Jim hated it.

His body was, despite himself, most responsive, as S'tavrik had said. He was soon the most popular boy in S'tavrik’s House of Pleasure, requested so often that frequently he 'entertained' a dozen men in a day, with more refused only because S'tavrik knew that unless he got sufficient rest he would soon become too tired to respond - and also that, once turned away, these clients would come sooner on the morrow.

Jim learned all there was to know of being sexually used by men; if there was more, it was surely too perverted to be thought of. He learned how to satisfy men already sated by self-indulgence; he learned how to arouse men rendered almost impotent by age or over-indulgence. And he despised then all.

There was one group in particular that he hated and despised; S'tavrik had, in his establishment, several 'supper rooms', where a party of men could gather and enjoy the services of the boys of the house as part of their entertainment, and several times Jim was one of the boys requested for such a party. He disliked it, but submitted because he had to - he had early learned that S'tavrik enforced obedience with a supple, springy stick applied with all his strength. Without doing any damage it stung viciously and one application was all Jim had needed to make him decide to risk no more. And then one group of four men who were frequent attendees at those parties got together and decided that it would be just as easy if the four of them joined together at least once a week - and shared one boy.

And Jim was the boy they asked for, every time. By now he was fairly accustomed to being watched while he was being used at these parties, and could switch his mind away from what was happening; what he did not expect was that this group had decided to try a multiple 'effort'; while one took him the usual way, a second employed fellatio; and he was forced at the same time to use his hands to satisfy the other two. The four varied who did what, debauching Jim shamelessly and usually managing to enjoy him twice during the course of their 'party'. Afterwards, when Jim returned to his own room, there was seldom any immediate respite for him either; another client was sure to show up within five minutes.

***

Time passed. Jim matured sexually. At first surprised that S'tavrik had not gelded him, Jim eventually learned why he had not; still as popular as ever, Jim now had some clients who wanted him to enter their bodies. He got as little pleasure from that as he did from being penetrated, but he had learned how to control his own arousal - he could provide whatever response his client wanted.

But he was getting older; soon he would be at about the age at which S'tavrik sold his boys. Already he was less in demand. That fact did not bother him; but what would become of him next?

He soon learned.

***

The day came when he was stopped as he left his room on his way to breakfast by one o£ the freeborn attendants who supervised the boys. "You are to come with me."

Jim knew then that his days here were over. What next? Whatever it was could not be so degrading... surely it could not be so degrading. Obediently he followed the attendant and for the first time since his arrival he left S'tavrik's House of Pleasure, naked as he had come.

The early morning sun, still cool, beat hotly against his unaccustomed skin, muscles unused to so much exercise were already protesting at being forced to walk so far, yet he knew he had been walking for only a few minutes - for fully eight years he had been imprisoned indoors, his only exercise that afforded by sexual usage, and his leg muscles were weak.

At last they stopped; a tag was fastened to his collar and he was pushed into a small numbered stall. He sank down, glad to rest, knowing he was about to be sold again.

After some minutes, partially recovered, he looked around. He was only one of many slaves to be sold that day. Some, like him, were Human; but there were others, too, more alien even that his captors; and here and there was even one of the Vulcan race who had enslaved him, themselves enslaved for he knew not what, who looked even more degraded by their state than any of the aliens did. Perhaps they were criminals of some kind? (He later learned that Vulcans were enslaved for only one thing - behaviour that dishonoured their name, such as cowardice.)

Eventually he was called out. He had stiffened as he sat, and now he moved painfully up the steps to the slave dais. A voice snapped, "Turn."

Wearily, resigned, he obeyed, displaying his body to his potential buyers. He was aware of a voice reciting his history. "Terran,  captured as a boy; a popular and skilled companion at S'tavrik's, being sold only because of his age."

Bids were called. The bidding seemed to go on for a long time - much longer than before, when as an unskilled lad he had been first sold. Or was it just that he had been so ashamed, so confused, last time, that he had noticed less? He would never know. He found himself wishing that it was over; finally came the half-dreaded words - "Sold to Sarek."

His new owner came to fetch him immediately. Although not young, he was younger than many who had frequented S'tavrik's; he looked well pleased. Jim studied him carefully as he followed his new master to a small air car, He looked... somehow better bred than most of the men who had patronized S'tavrik's, Jim decided; yet he could not be all that fastidious or he would not buy a brothel boy - surely he would prefer an untouched boy...

An older slave sat in the air car - another Human, a man of about forty, Jim guessed, pleasant-looking, with a face too craggy in its lines to be good looking yet certainly not ugly. Jim decided he liked the look of the man.

"Get in."

Jim obeyed, and sank into the seat beside his fellow slave, glad to be off his feet again. His new owner - Sarek? - sat at the controls, and the vehicle started off.

It took some time to reach their destination, a large white house standing in extensive grounds, surrounded by rolling parkland. In the distance, however, Jim could see the reddish soil of desert country, and guessed that this ground was green only because of considerable irrigation.

(He later learned that he was correct - most of Sarek's considerable estate had been won back from the desert over the previous three generations, and fire during the drought-common summer weather could undo the work of many years.)

 _No, this is not another pleasure house,_ Jim decided, one half-formed fear dispelled. The house was too remote, too far from any centre of population, although he could see a number of small settlements here and there around it (the houses of workers on the estate, as he later learned, as well as those of a few freeborn Vulcans who lived under Sarek's protection.) They landed and he was led into the house. A woman - the first Vulcan woman he had ever seen, Jim realised - met them.

"How is Spock?" his master demanded.

"Still in control, but not, I fear, for much longer." She looked at Jim, then back at Sarek.

"Is Selek here?"

"Yes."

"Then there need be little delay. I think this will be a suitable slave for Spock's use - as soon as Selek has examined him I will take him to Spock. I have no doubts that he is healthy, however."

The woman - his master's wife? - bowed slightly and withdrew; moments later she was replaced by another man, one who wore the rich green robes of a Healer.

The quick but thorough examination was completely familiar to Jim, uncomfortable though it was, for S'tavrik had had his boys checked medically at regular intervals. Selek nodded to the landowner.

"Perfectly healthy, Sarek."

Sarek grunted his satisfaction and looked at Jim. "I am giving you to my son," he said. "You will be his servant, not mine. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Yes, Jim did understand. Sarek looked to be a reasonable man, one who might be a good master - indeed, the older slave's apparent contentment lent weight to that theory - but Jim could expect no help from him if his son proved cruel.

"This way."

The door at the end of the corridor was locked, the key on the outside, and Jim wondered at this. Sarek unlocked the door and entered; Jim followed. Inside he paused.

The dark haired man inside halted his restless pacing to look at them. Sarek said quietly, "I bring you a gift, my son. This slave is yours."

"I thank you, father." The deep voice was hoarse.

Sarek withdrew, leaving Jim standing there. Behind him, Jim heard the key turn in the lock and drew a deep breath.

The wild-looking Vulcan advanced, to grip Jim's chin firmly between fingers and thumb, studying him. Jim forced himself to meet the almost insane gaze, desperately trying to hide his fear. What was going to happen to him? S'tavrik's clients had at least had one curb on their behaviour - if they injured a boy, they would be barred from the place in the future.

Here he had no such security. He had no defence except perhaps his own wits against anything Spock chose to do to him.

It seemed that Spock was satisfied with what he saw, however, for he released the cruelly hard grip to swing the Human into his arms. He carried Jim to the bed standing against the wall and dropped him onto it. A quick jerk removed the robe he was wearing and Jim saw that he was fiercely aroused.

Resigned, Jim opened his legs without waiting to be told, and a moment later felt the pain of an impatient penetration that thrust deeper and deeper in violent need into his body. His mind switched off, withdrawing from awareness of what was being done to his body. Soon it would end; this one was impatient, not needing stimulation. Jim would not have to accept the wet searching tongue that some men favoured nor the shame of feeling his body respond automatically as it sometimes did to the wandering hands so common among his clients, when he would have to think about what was happening in order to control his response.

Soon?

He felt the familiar hot flood of ejaculation pour into his body but the pounding thrusts continued unabated. It wasn't fair - this man wasn't sticking to the rules! Not until the second ejaculation shuddered through him did his master cease thrusting, but still he did not withdraw from Jim's body, but lay pressing close.

The Human's legs were aching. Stiff, tired, with no idea how long Spock's lust would continue, Jim could only lie still and try to relax, his master's mouth closed over his, tongue now probing, and Jim responded automatically. He did not have to enjoy this, after all; it was enough if the freeborn Vulcan did. His own penis still lay limp - it was more than clear that that response was not wanted of him.

Spock's kiss was less unpleasant than most, though, Jim noted. It did not give pleasure - that was impossible - but at least it did not engender the revulsion he had so often felt. With less reluctance than usual, he sucked the invading tongue until he felt Spock move slightly, and then the hard thrusting began again.

After his third climax the Vulcan withdrew from Jim's body, to throw the human round onto his face. He gripped Jim's hips, lifting him onto knees and elbows, and once more forced his way into the Human, penetrating deeper this time. He began to thrust yet again, apparently tirelessly, and Jim clenched his teeth and endured, knowing he could not resist. This was worse than anything he had ever experienced at S'tavrik's - the nearest parallel was the several orgies he had attended; especially the group of four, but even they had not used him so continuously. Was this what his life was now to be? Was he now slave to a man so oversexed that he must be potentially dangerous? Why else would he be kept locked up?

At last the Vulcan withdrew again and Jim felt him move away. He dared not move, however, in case he angered his master; surreptitiously he tried to ease his position a little,. After a moment, however, Spock said, "Slave."

Jim rolled over and sat up, the change of position wonderfully refreshing. "Yes, sir."

"I will bathe now."

Jim swallowed. The man sounded perfectly normal. "Sir, where is the bathroom?"

The Vulcan, who had been lying back with his eyes closed, sat up abruptly and stared at him. Then - "You are new here?"

"Yes, sir - your father bought me this morning - " _was it_ this _morning?_ – “to give to you."

"Yes - he said you were mine. I did not realise... No matter. The bathroom is through there." He indicated a curtained archway.

Jim went through, to find himself in a magnificent bathroom. The bath itself was set in the floor and patterned with a mosaic - a pattern rather than a picture, he noticed. The design was similar to ones that ornamented S'tavrik's and must be traditional, he thought, with vague memories of art lessons back on Earth. The whole bath was covered with a clear plastic that provided a smooth protective surface.

It took Jim only a moment to work out the system of plugs and taps - although it was slightly different to the one he had been used to at S'tavrik's the basic plumbing was the same. He turned on the hot water. Unsure how hot his new master would want the water, he decided that too hot was better than too cold. While it ran, he found a wash basin, patterned like the bath. He hesitated, but he felt soiled, stained with sweat and the semen that streaked his thighs. Finding a cloth, he gave himself a quick but thorough wash, then, still wet - he had not dared presume so far as to use a towel - he turned off the running water and returned to the bedroom. His master was sitting on the edge of the crumpled bed, head lowered, and it struck him that the Vulcan looked rather tired.

"The bath is nearly ready, sir," Jim said, "but I don't know how hot you like it."

Spock raised his head and looked at him. "You have washed," he said. "Good. I like my personal slave to be clean. I will come through."

He tested the water. "Some cold," he said. Jim ran cold water until Spock signified his approval; Jim tested the water, finding it just too hot for comfort - for a Human. Spock stepped in and lay down.

"While I soak, remake the bed. You will find clean sheets in the chest at the foot of the bed. When that is done, return to wash me."

"Yes, sir." Jim obediently moved back into the bedroom. There, he sat on the bed, wearily wishing that this day was over. He was now very tired. Cumulatively, he supposed he had not been used so very much more than he would have been in a full day at S'tavrik's, it was just that it had been so much more concentrated; twelve hours' sex crammed into three or four. But then there was everything else on top of it; the walk to the slave market, the strain of being sold, the uncertainty... an uncertainty that was still with him. Spock seemed all right for the moment... but what would he be like tomorrow?

After a minute, he dragged himself to his feet and stripped the covers off the bed, found the clean sheets and remade the bed. This at least was an easy chore, one he had done a dozen times a day for eight years... He wondered what to do with the soiled bedding, finally folding it and putting it down beside the door. Then he took a deep breath, and returned to the bathroom.

Spock sat up as he entered, gesturing for him to enter the water also. Surprised, he obeyed. The water was just cool enough for him now, and the hot water was very comfortable to his aching muscles.

He realised, however, that he had not been summoned into the bath just so that he could comfort his aching body. He reached for a cloth and the wax-textured soap that was so much finer than any the boys at S'tavrik's had been supplied with.

Carefully, he washed Spock's body. The Vulcan lay back again to soak the soap off. Jim murmured, "A towel, sir?"

"Dry yourself first on the saffron towel," Spock directed him. He obeyed, wondering. He later learned that anything coloured saffron was for the use of the slaves. A wet slave could not dry his master properly - a saffron towel was provided. A slave whose hands were greasy from serving food wiped them - on a saffron cloth - before touching anything else. And so it went on.

Dry, Spock turned to a speaking tube in the wall, and activated it. "Father."

"Yes, Spock."

"My thanks. The slave you provided for me was... most satisfactory."

"An adequate replacement?"

"It is too soon to say if he will completely fill Shava's place, but he appears willing and is quick to learn. He certainly proved most adequate for my immediate need."

"He has been trained for that. He came from S'tavrik's; he was over-age."

"Interesting; he will require... certain training, then."

"It can be set in hand tomorrow. Do you require food?"

"A light meal before I retire."

"In your room?"

"Thank you, father, that would be excellent." He switched off the speaker, and looked round. Jim was half standing, half leaning against the wall, his near exhaustion plain to see. As Spock looked, he pushed himself upright as if to deny his weariness. Spock's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, merely indicating the robe he had discarded earlier.

"That, and the towels, put with the soiled sheets. Normally you will put them outside the door; the house slaves will remove them. Then bring me a clean robe from that wardrobe - any one will do."

Jim obeyed, wondering if he would manage to complete his duties without collapsing. Spock was just dressed when there was a knock on the door. "Bring in the tray and tell the slave to take away the washing."

"Yes, sir."

Alone again with his master, Jim brought the tray to him and placed it on the table in front of him. There was a bowl of soup and an assortment of fruit and vegetables.

Spock looked searchingly at his slave. "When did you last eat?"

"Last night, sir. I was... taken to be sold first thing this morning."

"How long were you at S'tavrik's?"

"At least eight years, sir."

"Eight years... and this morning he did not even give you a meal." The deep voice broke off, then Spock picked up a piece of fruit. "Take the soup," he said, "I do not require it - but I think that you do."

"Thank... thank you, sir." Jim had to swallow an unaccustomed lump in his throat at this unexpected kindness. He had half expected that after his master was in bed he would be left to find himself a meal in the kitchen, if he had the energy to go far enough to find  it. He took the bowl and moved back, out of Spock's sight, guessing that his master would not wish to watch his slave eating. It was good soup, too - he had been given soup often enough at S'tavrik's, but it had been thin watery stuff; this was thick with vegetables and of a rich, satisfying flavour.

Then it was finished he hesitated, not quite sure what to do next. He could not put the empty bowl down in front of his master.

Spock glanced round, realised Jim's problem, and indicated that the bowl indeed be put back on the tray.

"I will retire now. The tray can wait until morning."

Jim helped him off with the robe - the sole purpose of which appeared to have been so that the house slave did not see him naked, something Jim did not yet understand. He later learned that save with their personal slaves Vulcans were almost excessively modest - which also confirmed the suspicions he had had that the men who frequented places like S'tavrik's were men of little breeding and not much pride. Men of breeding and pride did not indulge themselves as S'tavrik's clientele had done.

Spock slipped into bed and Jim hesitated once more. What was he supposed to do? Then he realised that he was being beckoned forward. "Your duties include sharing my bed. Had you not realised that from what happened earlier?"

For a moment Jim wondered how he could possibly express his uncertainty; then knew he couldn't. He lay down with a weary sigh. He was so tired... He felt that he should remain awake in case his master wanted anything more of him, but his exhausted body defeated him. His eyes drooped shut.

The Vulcan studied the sleeping face thoughtfully. A boy from S'tavrik's - yet he seemed to have some breeding; a fastidiousness and a strange dignity that sat unexpectedly on the shoulders of a brothel boy. Well, he would see. If the boy proved to have been coarsened by his experiences he could be resold; there was no longer any urgency for the dead Shava to be replaced. The boy had at least been useful in that, and if he was sold privately they could at least ensure that he went to a decent home; they owed him that much.

A handsome youth... perhaps he would do, after all. Spock rather hoped he would. It would be pleasant to have a personal slave again - and he would not again make the mistake he had made before, permitting himself to become so fond of a slave that the man's death had upset him to the point of considering him irreplaceable. He took Jim's hand and pressed it to his groin. Quite surprisingly pleasant, the cool Human flesh touching him... He closed his eyes and settled down to sleep.

***

Tired though he was, Jim awoke at his normal time. He began to sit up preparatory to rising, as he had done every morning for eight years, only to be prevented by the arm that lay heavy across his chest.

Fear stabbed through him for a moment. He had fallen asleep while he was with a client! S'tavrik would... Then memory returned. He was no longer at S'tavrik's, but the personal slave of a young Vulcan named Spock, whose behaviour was a strange mixture of unbridled lust and unexpected compassion. He had no real idea as yet of what his duties would be... but surely he should be preparing his master's clothes for the day. Yet he could not move without disturbing his master, and that he must not do.

He shuddered slightly at memory of the previous day. Horrible! He had never been so continuously or so brutally used, but if that was Spock's normal sexual behaviour he had better become accustomed to it, for there was no escape.

The Vulcan stirred slightly and pulled Jim closer, murmuring, "Shava."

Jim stiffened. 'Shava' - the name of the slave he had replaced. "Shava is not here, sir," he said nervously.

For a moment there was an unmoving silence, then the Vulcan's eyes opened. Some emotion, instantly masked, flickered there for an instant, too brief to allow Jim to interpret it. "No, Shava is not here," Spock said evenly. "However, you are, and your body is adequate for my needs. What did they call you, boy?"

"I was known as Shorala," Jim said, blushing slightly, "but my own name was Jim."

"Shorala... Giver of pleasure," Spock said speculatively. "Now that my need is past, it will be interesting to see if I agree." He withdrew his arm. "Prepare my bath. "

Jim slid his legs over the side of the bed, but as he stood he could not prevent his abrupt gasp of pain. He had only taken one laborious step when Spock said, "What is wrong?"

"I am sorry, sir, I am unused to any activity save that required by... my previous master's clients, and my legs are stiff from the amount of unaccustomed use they were given yesterday."

"That will not do. My personal slave must be active."

"Yes, sir."

"Yet it is unfair to blame you. You will exercise as much as your duties permit until you are completely fit."

"Yes, sir!" Jim could not prevent his eagerness from showing.

"That is to your liking? Good. You will begin immediately; exercise is the best cure for stiff muscles," Spock said.

"Yes, sir." Painfully, Jim made his way over to the bathroom.

***

Somewhat to his surprise, his master took charge of his training.

He was sent, the first day, to walk round the garden; first once, then after a short rest time, twice; then after another short rest, three times. His aching muscles loosened up, much to his relief; he accomplished the three circuits more easily than he had at first feared.

"Good," Spock said. "You will go three ties round the garden three times every day for a week. Then we will increase the distance. Your leg muscles must be strengthened."

"Yes, sir," Jim said. He had badly missed the exercise at first - he had often thought of summer days running by the river in a freedom that he had never appreciated at the time. But he had never been given the time, and slowly the dreams faded. Now, not only given the chance to walk and run again but actively ordered to do so, he felt happier than at any time since his capture.

He was then taken to a small room laid out as a gymnasium. A freedman was waiting; closely watched by Spock, the freedman took Jim through a series of exercises. After perhaps half an hour, however, Spock held up his hand.

"Enough for now. The same again tomorrow, S'haku. It would be a mistake to try to advance too quickly, Come, Shorala."

Jim's shoulders drooped slightly. He had hoped that the hated name would be forgotten, that he might be known again as 'Jim', but it seemed it was not to be. Obediently he followed his master.

"In a few days we will begin your instruction in the handling of weapons," Spock said as they went. "Could you use any weapons before you were captured?"

"Boys aren't allowed weapons on Earth," Jim said. "I had a toy bow I'd made that I was quite good with, but it wasn't strong enough to fire far."

"You had no instruction with sword or spear?"

"No. Nobody uses swords or spears on Earth."

"How then do your people hunt?"

"Mostly they don't. The few that do - with... forgive me, the word does not translate. A lead projectile blown out of a tube by a small explosion."

"At what range?"

"No closer than... from this wall to that one."

"So far? There is no sport in that."

"No, sir,"

"You had 'a toy bow'. Your people then practise archery?"

"Not really, sir. When they do, the few who do, it's target shooting, not for hunting or anything like that."

The Vulcan grunted. "We will first test you with the bow, since that is familiar to you."

"Yes, sir." He followed his master into the house.

"Can you read or write?"

The abrupt question startled him. "Not in Vulcan, sir. They were only interested in making sure we spoke enough of the language to understand and be understood. I'm not sure even now if all my grammar is correct. I could read and write in my own language when I was caught, but I've had no chance to practice - I've probably forgotten how to by now."

"You must learn. I will assign a freedman to teach you - and to assist you with the spoken tongue. You are correct - some of your usage is faulty.”

"Yes, sir." Inwardly, Jim was quite pleased.  A normal healthy schoolboy, he had not disliked his lessons as a child, but neither had he liked them. Now he realised that the skill he had once regarded as something of a waste of time could indeed be useful to him. He had already been sold once, too old to be a pleasure slave; his present master might easily tire of him and sell him again, and if he knew no skills save those of the bed... Who would want a bed slave who was past his first youth? With other skills he had more opportunity of being sold as more than a mere drudge. And if his master was taking the trouble of training him... It must mean, too, that he had given satisfaction, that his master could see in him a potentially useful general servant. It was so very pleasant to be given the opportunity of doing more than simply lying in bed pretending pleasure... And whatever was wrong with his master yesterday, today he appeared to be perfectly normal.

***

It was mealtime.

This time his master joined the rest of the family at table. Jim watched the other slaves carefully, strangely confident that allowance would be made for ignorance but determined not to err if he could help it.

The older slave who had been in the air car stood behind Sarek's chair; an elderly female, pale-skinned and with two antennae projecting from her hair, stood behind the woman who had to be Spock's mother. Both slaves served his - or her - own master.

Jim noticed enviously that although he was still naked, the other two slaves were wearing simple tunics. _Perhaps that's a privilege that comes with age_ , he thought.

The family did not delay unduly over the meal. When they had finished they rose, and Spock glanced at Jim. "The personal slaves now eat. Do not be too greedy; the general house slaves get what is left. Shem and Thronga will advise you. When you finish, join me in the sitting room."

"Yes, sir."

Alone with the two older slaves, Jim hesitated.

"Come, boy," Thronga said encouragingly. "This is new to you?"

"Yes."

"You have a good master and he will be patient with you until you learn, as long as you don't take too long. But you're following a slave he was very fond of - you'll have to be good, better than most, to fill Shava's place."

"What happened to Shava?"

"He was killed," Shem replied. "They were out hunting and the young master's spear broke. Shava distracted the beast while the master got clear for his second spear, and was clawed before the creature could be killed. There's no antidote for the poison in a le-matya's claws. All the Healer could do was give him a painless death." The older slave chewed reflectively for a moment. "That was four months ago. The young master knew he was approaching his Time, but he refused to replace Shava. Finally my master decided he must act - the young master's need was desperate. And once his need had been relieved, the first step was taken. He seems willing to give you a fair trial. Study to please him, lad - this is a good place, make no mistake. Better than you came from."

"Any place would be better than that," Jim muttered.

Shem nodded sympathetically. "I can imagine. I was lucky - I was older than you when I was caught. Old enough not to be considered for anything like that. Sarek bought me and I've been with him ever since. Or maybe I was unlucky," he added wryly. "Mostly the slave ships are only interested in youngsters who haven't quite reached puberty. It's just occasionally they go for a shipload of older ones."

"How old were you when they got you?" Jim asked.

"Twenty-two. I was studying to be a doctor... Sarek's given me the chance to keep up some medical skills; I treat most of the Human slaves on the estate unless it's really serious. Taken all in all, I'm not too badly off."

Jim glanced at Thronga. "What about you?" he asked half shyly.

"I was taken as a child. My mistress's family bought me to be brought up with her and serve her."

"And Shava?" Jim discovered he had an almost obsessive wish to learn more about the dead slave.

"He was Human and brought here as a child," Shem said. "Bought as a child and brought up with Spock. They often do that," he added thoughtfully. "It was a feature of slave culture back on Earth too. Supposed to create a deeper feeling of attachment or something. Certainly with Spock it worked - he was very attached to Shava."

"It does not always work," Thronga said. "My mistress relies on me and trusts me, but she has no deep affection for me, nor I for her, but I am faithful, for I know when I am well off."

Jim pushed away his empty plate. A moment later Shem swallowed his last mouthful and said, "Ready, lad?"

"I - yes."

"Then we'd best get back on duty. Don't worry - he won't eat you."

***

The family was sitting relaxed when the three slaves entered the sitting room. The woman - Jim learned later that her name was T'Pau - was busy with embroidery; Thronga joined her at once, settling to sort threads as she sat on a low stool beside her mistress's chair. Shem also crossed to sit on a stool beside his master; he picked up writing materials as he went and Sarek began dictating to him in a low tone.

Jim took a deep breath and moved over to stand at Spock's shoulder. The Vulcan was studying a game played on checkered boards on three levels, and on which several gaming pieces in black and white were placed. After a moment Spock looked up.

"I imagine you do not play Battlefield."

"No, sir. We never had time off for anything like that."

Spock nodded as he swept the pieces from the boards. Then he carefully removed the two top boards, leaving only the bottom one, the largest. "In that case we will begin with the simplest form of the game. Oh, sit down, sit down!" He sounded irritable as he waved Jim into the seat opposite him. Jim obeyed quickly, remembering that he was replacing a valued slave who had known what was and what was not permitted.

Spock laid out the pieces quickly. Two rows, the front one of small identical pieces, the back one a variety of larger ones.

"Now," Spock said, "this piece is the Matriarch; this the Commander. These two are Captains, these two Warriors, and the end two, the Sergeants. The front row are the ordinary men at arms. Each piece has its own move... " He went on to describe these. "Do you understand all that, Shorala?"

"Yes, sir. It is similar to a game I knew at home, before I was captured. The men and some of the moves are different but the basic game is much the same. It was only ever played on one level, though," he said uneasily, glancing at the two discarded boards.

"Time enough for the other levels when you are confident with the basic game," Spock told him, "especially since you have the moves of a similar game to forget." He moved forward a man at arms. Jim nervously countered with the same move. Spock brought out a Captain. Jim moved a second man at arms and Spock, almost without a pause, brought out his Commander. Jim hesitated, recognising what in chess would be the first move in a fool's mate. Should he let his master win? No! Not yet, anyway, He interposed a Warrior, this world's equivalent of a knight, and Spock smiled. Jim knew then that he had made the right choice. It had been a test, possibly of his courage, certainly of his understanding. He set out to make Spock fight for his inevitable victory.

It took some time before he realised that they were, in fact, equally matched, and a little longer to work out why. Spock was used to the complexities of the more demanding game played on three levels, and the simplicity of the basic game was throwing him off form.

Finally it was the resemblance to chess that defeated Jim. He forgot the Warriors' different jump and placed a defending piece where it was immediately taken. Three moves later he conceded defeat.

"You played well," Spock told him. He lifted the badly placed piece. "You forgot the Warrior could take this, did you not?"

"Yes, sir. In chess, the knight only jumps two and one, not two and three."

"You did well, not to forget more often. You were good at this game – chess - in your own world?"

"Fairly good, sir; I was in the school chess team."

"It shows." He indicated the box for the pieces. "Put the gamesmen away, and then attend me."

As Jim obeyed, Spock moved first to his father and then to his mother, bidding, them good night. Jim waited hesitantly beside the table after he shut the box, glancing at Shem for guidance. The older slave smiled and nodded as if to say he was doing the right thing, then as Spock turned towards the door, Jim went across to follow him.

***

A small chest sat outside the bedroom door; Spock indicated it. "Bring it in."

Jim obeyed. Spock indicated where it should be put, and that he should open it. It contained several tunics of the kind worn by Shem and Thronga, and a loose cloak, all saffron.

"Inside this room you will go naked," Spock told him. "You will wear a tunic in the rest of the house and in the grounds, save when you exercise with S'haku. The cloak is to wear over the tunic if you are sent on a message outside the grounds; it is not necessary if you accompany me, however; then the tunic is sufficient. If you are uncertain, ask; Shem will keep you right."

"Yes, sir."

"The normal evening routine is; while I soak in the bath you put out the soiled clothes to be washed and lay out clean ones for tomorrow. You then come and wash me, after which we retire to bed. In the morning while I soak, you change the bedclothes."

"Yes, sir." Jim moved to the bathroom to run the water.

***

In bed, Spock pulled Jim against him. "Rouse me," he ordered coolly. Had Shava had to arouse him, Jim wondered, or had Spock actually wanted Shava? Probably wanted him, if he had indeed been the valued slave he seemed to have been. Jim was startled at the sudden stab of jealousy that shot through him. Impossible! He did not want his master to want him - it was enough that he must satisfy Spock's lust without satisfying his wants, which would surely be harder to accomplish. Obediently, however, he began to run his hands over Spock's body, automatically finding the sensitive areas that made the Vulcan writhe. It was something he could do without thought, but realisation that this man would expect him to pay attention to his body made him indeed do so. He rose to his knees to give both hands the maximum freedom of movement, and caressed the smooth, firm body with a delicate touch. He compared this with the flabby, unhealthy flesh of some of his former clients, and knew himself to be fortunate. He could so easily have been bought by one of those over-indulged sensualists....

His hands moved to the soft flesh of the inner thighs, fingertips skimming lightly over the sensitive skin. Spock gasped, moving convulsively as his penis swelled, stiffened, and Jim curled his fingers around it, stroking it gently. Spock lay still for some moments accepting the milking, then he moved abruptly. Jim found himself on knees and elbows again, being entered from behind. He braced himself against the deep thrusting, glad that Spock had aroused to easily; then came the familiar hot flood of semen and the intruding penis withdrew. Spock lay down beside him, and he slid down too, to lie face down, waiting, wondering if Spock would want more.

It appeared that he did not. "Yes, Shorala," Spock murmured quietly. "You are indeed well named."

***

Jim fell quickly into a pattern of behaviour in which he exercised, learned to read and write, worked, served at table, played Battlefield with his master and then retired to bed, most nights to be sexually used, though only once, and occasionally allowed to sleep immediately. Spock made no attempt to arouse him or even caress him, simply using him almost impersonally.

At first glad of that impersonality, Jim slowly realised that he was beginning to be discontented by it. He was beginning to want more. He was becoming fond of this quiet, considerate and yet withdrawn Vulcan; he realised that he would welcome a more intimate attitude. But he dared not relax his own formality. Spock had never questioned, indeed appeared to have welcomed, his own lack of sexual response; he dared not now change, relax his control and permit himself to feel need. For what if he did, and then discovered that he had been wrong? He had escaped once from enforced and unwanted sexual usage; if Spock thought that he did want it... what if Spock despised him as being corrupted by the men who patronized the brothel, and sold him again? His thoughts on the matter were confused; all he knew was that he did not want to exchange this place for another.

The day came when he was taken by Spock on a hunting trip. He was given a bow and a quiver of arrows, and a spear. Spock, somewhat to his surprise, carried his own, and then he guessed why - to be at hand immediately should they be needed. Jim's sole purpose was to act as back-up for his master, as he quickly discovered.

They were hunting a feral sehlat; there was no saying why it had run away from a good home, but used as it was to people it was more dangerous than an ordinary wild one, for it lacked any fear of men.

They came on its tracks soon enough and followed it into the more arid regions bordering the Sas-a-Shar desert, Jim unhappily conscious of his complete inexperience. If Spock was hurt because of his incompetence... If Spock was hurt as a result of his slave's incompetence, Jim could expect to be sold immediately, and he did not want to be sold again. He had found a measure of happiness; he possessed nothing else, and he did not want to lose it.

A snarl ahead of them broke his reverie and he gripped his spear, ready to cast it should it be necessary.

The gingery fur of the runaway sehlat showed between two rocks, snarling, its great fangs gleaming white in the sun.

Spock halted.

"There is a difference between bravery and foolhardiness," he said. "We will use arrows, not spears, I will fire first - if your arrow is required, I will tell you when to fire."

"Yes, sir." Jim reached for an arrow and notched it.

Spock took careful aim at the snarling beast and fired. Instantly, Jim drew back his bow, arrow aimed, ready. The creature reared up, the arrow embedded in its throat, and then fell. Cautiously, Spock moved forward, Jim close behind him.

The sehlat was dead. Jim replaced his arrow in the quiver, hesitated for a moment then decided to risk comment. "An excellent shot, sir."

Pain stabbed Spock as he remembered how Shava would have shouted exuberantly and run forward to hug him... then he pulled himself together. This was not Shava but a new slave, one from whom all he would ask - all he could expect - was efficient service. Yet it pleased him that the man had made that comment.

"Thank you," he said, equally formal.

***

When they returned to the house, Spock turned to him. "How tired are you?"

Jim looked at him, puzzled, then remembered this had been his first time expedition. "Not very tired, sir."

"Good. Tonight, we will advance to the intermediate stage of Battlefield, using the second level. Once you have mastered that, adapting to the third level is easy."

***

Spock was a remarkably patient teacher, Jim reflected as he ran the bath water. He had found it very difficult to adjust to playing with the extra dimension, but Spock had encouraged and helped him, and, by the end of the evening, he was beginning to understand the basics of the second level.

Warriors never went on the second board. They could jump from first to third, but never went on second. Men at arms were limited to first level, too. Nor could the Matriarch - the equivalent of the King - change levels. In a full game she was placed on the top level, and Jim had already begun to understand how vulnerable she was to attack by the Warriors once she was there. Sergeants could go to second level but not to top. Only the Commander and the two Captains - the equivalent of Queen and Bishops - could go on all three levels.

In this intermediate form of the game the Matriarch was placed on the second level: it meant that Jim did not have to worry at this stage about Warrior attack, and he appreciated the respite. It had been challenging, and Jim had found his concentration strained to the limit. He could only hope that it would be several weeks before he was 'promoted' to the full game.

He had developed an easy relationship with his fellow slaves, too. At S'tavrik's the boys had been given little opportunity to socialise - even their meals had been hurried through, to get then back on duty as quickly as possible. Here, although the personal slaves were in attendance almost all the time, there were frequent opportunities for social contact between them. Jim guessed that only Shem actually knew where he came from, and Thronga must have a fairly accurate supposition, but that they had not divulged that knowledge to the other slaves in the house - although the hated name Shorala must tell them something.

Spock did not use him that night but rolled away from him to lie with his back to him. Puzzled, Jim wondered if this signified loss of favour, then realised that his master was probably remembering another hunt, and a dead slave. Wishing that there was something he could do to comfort him, Jim fell into an uneasy sleep.

***

Time paused. Jim found himself to be a trusted companion, but he was aware of a barrier between himself and his master - a barrier that seemed to be non-existent between Shem and his master, and even between Thronga and her mistress, even though she had claimed that there was little affection between them. He had become surprisingly fond of Spock, he realised, but Spock gave no sign of wanting anything more than trustworthiness and obedience. He gave trust, but nothing more.

Jim knew now that he was increasingly unhappy, where before he had only suspected it. At first merely pleased that his circumstances had changed so dramatically for the better, he had been glad that Spock used him so impersonally, not simulating affection; now he knew he definitely wanted more.

He wanted to feel Spock's hands caressing him, wanted to feel Spock's mouth close demandingly over his, wanted to surrender to Spock's exploring; tongue. He who had so hated being kissed was desperate for a kiss that was denied him. He remembered the one kiss Spock had ever given him, savouring the memory, and felt an uncontrollable tightening in his groin. It was becoming harder to control his own arousal, too, when Spock took him... but he knew that Spock did not want response, for if he did he would surely try to stimulate his slave.

No. All Spock wanted was the physical release; he had no affection for his slave, and Jim knew he would be wise to remember that.

***

They were several miles from the house when the earthquake struck. Jim, burdened by the water container that kept pulling him fractionally off balance, dropped to all fours as the ground shuddered beneath them. Spock tried to regain standing, then a particularly violent tremor sent him staggering to fall heavily. Jim – who had fallen a little behind because of the weight of the water container - began to crawl over to him.

He was almost there when the ground steadied, and he completed the distance on foot, wondering why Spock made no attempt to rise.

He soon learned.

The Vulcan lay, several inches of bloodstained branch protruding from his leg. Jim caught his breath and bent over it.

Spock had fallen against a windblown and dead tree that was spiked with the remains of branches, and had impaled himself on one. Jim found himself shaking, thankful that it was only his master's leg that was injured, but not sure how best to free him. He could not cut through the branch, he decided, for sharp though his knife was it could cause Spock agony as he sawed through the dead wood.  Nor did he want to leave Spock while he went for help; the Vulcan would have no protection from wild carnivores while he was alone. There was only one other alternative that he could see; it also would be incredibly painful, but it was, Jim judged, the best option.

"How bad?" Spock asked, has voice tight but controlled,

"I don't think there's any major damage," Jim said, "but it will be difficult getting you free. I think the only way is for me to try to lift you off the branch, sir."

Spock nodded. The Human discarded the water container and stood, breathing deeply for a minute as he prepared himself. Then he knelt, slipped his arms under Spock's waist and knees, judged the angle as carefully as possible, and lifted. He heard Spock's gasp, then felt him come free. He rolled back, away from the dead tree, Spock on top of him. They lay limp for a moment, Jim trapped under the dead weight of his master's body, before Spock rolled away from him.

Jim scrambled up and bent over the injured leg. Blood ran freely from the wound, blood which he knew must be staunched. Without a second thought for the sunburn he would surely suffer, he stripped off his tunic and used it as a rough bandage.

"If I help you, sir, can you walk? If I go for help, you couldn't defend yourself properly if a le-matya found you."

"I can walk." And walk he did, leaning heavily on Jim's supporting shoulder.

Worried though Jim was, he almost welcomed the injury, for it gave him a logical excuse to put his arm around Spock's waist and feel Spock's arm around his shoulders, and for a little he gave himself up to the illusion that his master did indeed care for him.

***

In spite of Selek's fears that the injury might be infected, it healed cleanly and well, giving no bother save on the first night when Spock was slightly fevered. He muttered in quiet delirium, at first calling Shava's name and then, after a brief restless pause, begging to be held.

 _But it's Shava he wants, not me_ , Jim thought miserably as he obeyed the gasped appeal, slipping his arms round the lean body and holding it close in spite of the pain it caused his sunburned body. His embrace seemed to serve, however, for Spock quieted thereafter and although still restless, soon fell into sleep. Jim lay awake for most of the night, his mind a turmoil of conflicting emotions.

He wanted so much to be wanted - by Spock. But all Spock wanted was efficient service.

Well, that at least he could give. And would give. Eventually he slept, to dream of a tender lover - something he had never known - caressing him...

If he had secretly harboured the hope that his dream could come true and that the incident would draw Spock closer to him, he was soon disillusioned. The Vulcan continued to treat him with the same gentle but distant courtesy and still used him as impersonally almost every night.

***

Almost a year after Sarek bought Jim, there came a change in the routine. Spock had to go for three months for standard military training. He could choose either the traditional training of a warrior, or basic spaceflight training, although in practise only those who intended making a career in space opted for the latter. And so it was in Spock's case; he chose the traditional training. Jim decided that he was not surprised; Sarek's family did seem very conservative in their ways, and in spite of the fact that space flight kept then well supplied with alien slaves, Sarek at least clearly disapproved of the new ways; and as the only son, Spock was not really able to make a free choice - he could not afford to be away from home for many years, for he had many duties about the estate to see to.

Although a cadet of good family, Spock was not permitted the services of his personal slave; military training was, for the young men, indeed a return to the past when a man had no personal slave until he captured one in battle. He must attend to his own needs, the only slaves available being the general ones who saw to menial camp duties. A few boys were kept to provide sexual diversion, but their services were highly priced, the money going to provide luxuries for the officers.

Before he left, Spock gave instructions for Jim's employment during the three months. He was to keep up his exercise; practise reading and writing; continue practising the use of hunting weapons. Jim heard this happily, determined to improve his standards considerably while his master was away.

It was almost a relief, the night Spock left, to lie alone in the huge bed, knowing that he did not have to pretend disinterest and obedient acceptance. Ironic - he who had so long pretended pleasure when he felt none having now to pretend detachment when he felt desire. But he knew Spock still loved and wanted the dead Shava; if he thought his present slave was presumptuous enough to want that love, he would surely be sold, and that would be even worse, for then he would never see Spock again.

Within twenty-four hours, Jim knew that he dared do nothing to risk being sent away. Even in this short time he discovered that he was missing Spock terribly; and how he could exist without him for three interminable months was a question for which he had no answer. Even the agony of knowing himself to be unloved, merely trusted, was worth suffering if he could only be near him...

He could only keep his days as full as possible.

To some extent he was, for the first time since his capture, a free agent. He was Spock's personal slave, temporarily but legally without the duties for which he had been bought. His master had left certain instructions for his employment during this period; no-one else had the right to order him to do anything else. So he would spend his time as he had been instructed.

He devoted his mornings to the skills of reading and writing, and within a short time, now that he could spend several uninterrupted hours daily at it, was capable of reading anything he was given in modern Vulcan and following anything in High Vulcan, the old archaic tongue still used for official documents. Writing was more difficult, he found, for several of the symbols looked much alike and writing them unambiguously required a precision he doubted many Humans possessed, although Shem seemed to have it. He practised diligently, but suspected that he would never reach a standard that would permit Spock to use him as a scribe as Sarek used Shem.

The afternoons he spent in exercise and. weaponry. His accuracy with the bow increased tremendously; with throwing spears he proved less competent, although the freedman who instructed him assured him that his attainment equalled, indeed surpassed, that of many freedmen who had been trained in the use of these weapons since youth.

He was given no training in the use of the lirpa or ahn woon. These were warrior's weapons, not for slaves - but he used his eyes and ears when freeborn Vulcan boys - whose families owed allegiance to Sarek and who lived on the estate - came for lessons in their use, and he soon learned the theory behind that use.

And he exercised, building up muscles that for so long had had no strength. He tried to return each night exhausted so that he would sleep quickly, but as he gained in fitness he found it harder and harder to exhaust himself and lay awake, longing for the impossible and wondering if Spock missed him at all. Until one terrible night when the realisation dawned that Spock didn't need to miss him; Spock did not care for him, he was merely a useful servant, a convenient means of sexual relief. If Spock felt... If Spock wanted sex, anyone would do.

Jim rolled over, buried has face against the pillow, and whimpered helplessly. He was only a slave. He had no rights. One day Spock would find a bondmate... Jim sobbed helplessly into the pillow at the realisation.

Spock would find a bondmate, and even if he kept his slave, Jim would have the misery of knowing that the hands that he wanted to feel caressing him would be caressing someone else... that there would never again be any possibility of tasting Spock's mouth. One kiss... only one. Memory of it only heightened his misery. Oh Spock... Spock. And yet even that would be preferable to never seeing him again...

Morning completely failed to lift his depression. Shem commented on it at breakfast and he shrugged philosophically.

"I'm missing Spock," he said frankly.

Shem stared at him. "Aye. It happens. But lad - don't get too dependent on him. Remember he's bound to marry one day. He'll still sleep with you oftener than with his wife, but she's the one he'll give his affections to."

"I know that. He doesn't care for me, doesn't even much like me, I think. He'd still rather have Shava. Shem - he's never given me one word of... of affection. Even in bed, he's gentle enough but there's no tenderness. He doesn't even go through the motions. He doesn't even kiss me."

"And you love him?" The older man sounded sympathetic.

Jim nodded. "At first I was glad he didn't pretend. That was the most horrible thing about S'tavrik's - the men who pretended, who had to pretend to themselves that they were coaxing response instead of getting it because they'd paid for it and I knew I'd be punished if they didn't get it. They were horrible - what we used to call 'dirty old men' back on Earth. So often their touch made me want to be sick. It was almost pleasant being taken by someone who was young, whose flesh was firm, even though that first day was rather... overwhelming."

"He was in need."

"I know. I knew he didn't... care for me, I was just an available body for him. I don't think I even wanted him to care, then - and he was honest about it... but it didn't take long before I realised that I'd grown fond of him. I daren't even show it, Shem. When he hurt his leg on that tree - in his fever he called for Shava to hold him. How dare I be so presumptuous as to indicate that I want to take Shava's place?"

Shem shook his head. "He never slept with Shava."

"He didn't?"

"Oh, they'd share a bed, of course, but when Shava died, Spock was still sexually immature."

"How could he be? He's twice my age and I've been - "

"You're Human, lad. Vulcans live longer, so they mature later. As Vulcans go, Spock is slightly younger than you - speaking comparatively. Pon farr signals puberty. It was Spock's first time. As for Shava, he'd been gelded, so Spock could never have used him as an active partner. Some slavers geld automatically. You were lucky. So was I."

"I... see." A strange weight had lifted from his shoulders.

Shem went on, "Vulcans do feel a certain... loyalty... for whoever satisfies their need during pon farr - usually their personal slave. I doubt he'll ever sell you - if he was going to he'd have done it long ago. He does trust you - that's pretty obvious. If he didn't, he wouldn't have left you with such open-ended instructions. He'd have detailed every day for you and seen to it that someone was around to watch and check on you. But you're right - don't be presumptuous. Don't look for any privileges other than those he gives you unasked. You may not have many yet, but they'll come. And don't look for him to love you. At best you'll be no more than a well-liked pet sehlat. Spock's... affection for Shava was practically unique. It probably happened because Spock's an only child and they grew up together. But you heard what Thronga said. She and T'Pau grew up together, but have no deep affection for each other. That is what's normal. I respect my master, and in his own way he respects me. But that's the limit of it. When it comes down to it, I doubt that Vulcans are capable of deep affection. Even inside the family, you never see any demonstration of affection such as you'd see in a Human family."

"I know that, Shem. I know all that. I've been telling myself that for months. It would be so much easier, though, if only I didn't love him so much."

"Do you love him?" Shem asked shrewdly. "Do you really love him, or is it just that he's been kind to you? You haven't known much kindness since you were captured, have you? Is it love, or is it just gratitude?"

"A bit of both, I think. Yes, I'm grateful to him. That first night... even then, he gave me his own supper when he heard I'd had nothing to eat all day... He said he wasn't hungry, but I know now that he must have been. It started there. But now... now it's more than just gratitude. I really do love him."

Shem looked at him sympathetically.

***

Spock arrived home a whole day earlier than expected, a privilege earned by conscientious and hard work.

In the first excitement of his arrival, nobody missed Jim, but after some minutes Spock looked round. The whole household, it seemed, freeborn and senior slaves, had gathered to meet him; only his personal slave was missing. The freedmen under whom he could have been studying were all present.

"Where is Shorala?" he asked at last.

"You ordered him to exercise during your absence," S'haku reminded him. "Shorala has been doing so; it has become his custom to take lengthy walks in the afternoon, arriving back in mid-evening."

Spock nodded, "And I was not expected back today. I see." He turned back to his parents.

Mid-evening came and went, with no sign of the missing slave. Spock seemed unconcerned; Shem's eyes turned more and more frequently towards the window as it got full dark.

"Shem? what is interesting you?" Sarek asked after a while.

"Shorala, sir. He's not usually this late. If he'd got back, someone would have told him his master is home. I'm worried about him." He glanced over at Spock as he spoke, noticing the Vulcan's tension. So. It seemed that Spock cared more for Shorala than the lad thought.

"Which way did he go?" Sarek asked.

Shem shook his head. "He could have turned any way after he left the garden."

"He may simply have gone further than he intended," Spock suggested lightly.

"He's always been back before twilight before, sir. He knows how far he can go to get back before dark."

"Is he hunt-armed?"

"A bow, sir."

"That wouldn't... " He broke off as the door opened.

Jim entered, stumbling, clearly exhausted, filthy. He staggered over to Spock, and dropped to his knees, head lowered respectfully. "Master."

"What happened to you?" Spock's voice was sharp.

"Fire," he said simply. "A grass fire. Not very extensive, but it was being blown towards the forest. There wasn't time to come back for help, so I tackled it myself."

"And?" Sarek said.

"I got it out." No need to go into details - the desperate rush to make some sort of fire broom, the frantic beating, the pain of hot ground on bare feet, the relief when the wind changed as it began to get dark, blowing the fire back on itself, and then the long agonising journey home on burned feet in the growing dark, the fear that a prowling le-matya might scent him...

Sarek and Spock looked at each other. "I will have food sent to your room," Sarek said.

Spock lowered his head in thanks and rose. "Come, Shorala."

Jim hesitated for a split second, aware that in the minute he had been kneeling the semi-numbness in his feet had worn off. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the agony of standing, just as Shem exclaimed, "Master!"

"Yes, Shem?" Sarek turned to look at his slave. Shem had already started forward towards Jim.

"His feet!"

Sarek stared, then noticed what Shem had already seen - the bloodstains left by Jim's feet that clearly marked the carpet. Spock instantly reached out a quick hand to Jim's shoulder to prevent him from rising. He leaned over to look at Jim's feet as Shem knelt to examine them.

Shem looked up after only a moment. "Send for Healer Selek," he said urgently.

"You cannot tend them?" Spock asked.

"Not this severe, sir. He'll need several injections that I'm not qualified to give to make sure there's no infection. And a pain killer before anyone can even begin to try to clean them."

"Go for him," Sarek said.

As Shem left, Spock looked down almost accusingly at his slave. "You should not have walked on burned feet."

"I had to return home, sir. Nobody knew where I'd gone."

"In future, always leave word of your route if you go out alone."

"Yes, sir."

"Now... " Spock bent and wrapped an arm around Jim's back; the other arm went under his thighs, and he lifted Jim easily. There was a gentleness in the hold that filled the Human with sudden happiness, and he dared to wrap an arm around Spock's shoulders. Spock did not seem to object, and as Thronga closed the door behind them, Jim allowed his head to rest wearily against his master's shoulder.

He roused himself to open the bedroom door when they reached it, but without stopping to close it properly Spock went straight through to the bathroom.

He put Jim down on a stool, carefully ensuring that the soles of his feet did not touch the ground, and turned on the water. While it ran he fetched a knife and slit the materiel of his slave's tunic, then grunted in satisfaction as he ascertained that although the tunic was singed in places Jim's body bore no burns. He took a cloth and carefully washed the grime from Jim's face, arms and legs. Taking a towel - Jim didn't realise until later that it was one of his own, not a saffron one –and after he dried Jim, he went back into the bedroom for a moment, taking another towel, then returned to pick Jim up again and take him through. He had pulled the covers off the bed and put the towel at the foot; now he put Jim down on the bed, his feet on the towel, and carefully replaced the discarded covers over his slave, turning them up so that his feet remained uncovered,

Jim looked up at him. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Spock smiled at him. "You saved us much loss," he said.

"But you shouldn't be... " He stammered slightly, confused

"Tending you? You have been a good servant, and you were injured serving use. Of course I have a responsibility for your welfare."

Responsibility. It was like a knife in his heart. All this kindness... It was Spock's duty to care for him. Only his duty. Jim closed his eyes to mask his hurt, and Spock said quietly, "Yes, that's right. Rest, Selek will not be long."

Jim fell into an uneasy sleep.

He woke to find Spock and Selek, whom he knew slightly from his occasional visits to the house, bent over his feet. Shem was there too, clearly assisting the Healer. His feet were completely numb, and he uttered a startled, frightened cry. Spock swung round instantly, "It's all right - relax."

"My feet - I can't feel my feet."

"Selek has injected a pain killer," Spock told him. "You slept through most of it. Your feet are almost clean now." He realised then that the right foot was bandaged. Even as he sighed in relief, Selek straightened, reached for the jar of salve Shem held, and smeared some over the sole of his left foot. He wrapped a bandage lightly round it. Spock carefully removed the towel and pulled the cover down.

"You must remain off your feet for some days," Selek told Jim firmly. "Shem will monitor you. I think, however, that no lasting harm has been done." He turned to Shem. "Use the salve freely, and dress his feet night and morning, I will return three days from now."

As Shem nodded, Spock said, "Thank you, Selek." He nodded dismissal to Shem, who escorted the Healer to the door, then Spock turned back to the bed, picking up a bowl from the table beside the bed as he did so. "Come, Shorala - you must eat."

Jim was not hungry; this attention, which should have comforted him, was only responsibility to a good servant, and the knowledge robbed him of his appetite. It was particularly hurting because he had for a moment dared to hope that his master was concerned about him. But because it was easier to obey he did so, choking down about half the contents of the bowl before indicating that he had had enough, and closing his eyes again, simulating a weariness he no longer felt.

Spock put the bowl back on the table. Jim heard him moving about for some minutes, then the bed moved and a warm body came in beside him. "Shorala?" The voice was very quiet. He made no reply, breathing gently and evenly in pretended sleep.

Spock sighed softly, and relaxed. Moments later, he slept. But Jim lay awake for many hours, unhappily aware of the disappointment of learning that Spock had not, as he had for a moment dared to think, learned to care for him. It was only duty.

***

Jim had to admit that Spock was very patient. Although Shem dressed his feet, Spock did everything else for him, tending him gently, carefully; and did not even seek sexual release for the first days of his return.

The burned and lacerated feet healed quickly, and Jim was allowed up for short periods, gradually lengthening as the days went by. Spock remained constantly at his side, ready to give him any help he needed; had it been from the wish to help him, Jim knew that he would have accepted gladly, but because he knew it was done from duty, the Human was careful to ask for as little as possible. He would not presume on the temporary change in status even though it seemed that Spock wanted to do more for him than the minimum Jim requested.

Finally, with Jim's feet almost healed, the night came when Spock pulled him almost roughly into position and took him with a directness that spoke of lust only barely controlled. It was so brutally different from the tender lovemaking of Jim's dreams that he could not restrain a single sob, desperately trying to muffle it in the pillow.

There was a moment of silence, then Spock said tautly, "Did I hurt you?"

"No, sir," he managed.

"Then why?" His voice was soft, puzzled. Jim could only shake his head helplessly. He knew that if he even tried to speak he would lose control and pour out the tale of love that his master would certainly not want to hear, would certainly consider presumption. Still quietly, Spock murmured, "I've never asked so very much of you. Do you still find it so terrible - satisfying my need?"

"No," he gasped.

"Then tell me what's wrong." The voice, while still gentle, was inflexible.

Jim fought for a measure of control. "You want Shava - not me." He fought to keep the bitterness out of his voice and was not sure that he had succeeded.

Spock caught his breath. "Who told you that?"

"You did, sir."

"I... did?"

"When you were fevered after you hurt your leg. You called for Shava. You wanted to be held, and you called for Shava."

"I remember. I was dreaming about the hunt when he was killed. I tried to warn him... " Spock’s voice was soft, far away. Then it strengthened. "He was like a brother to me. But it wasn't Shava I wanted to hold me - it was you."

"Me?" Jim whispered.

Spock was silent for a moment. "When you first came, you frequently spoke it your sleep. I learned - yes, even the first night - how you hated the intimacies that had been forced on you. I decided... It is no part of a man's rights to torture his slaves; I decided simply to take you directly when I wanted relief. In addition, yes, I admit that at first I was determined not to care deeply for you, But it was not long before I realised that I did care."

"You... care for me?" Jim whispered.

"Yes."

"Then... hold me. Please. Hold me... "

Spock drew him close.

***

In the morning, it seemed like a dream.

They had fallen asleep locked in each other's arms and when he wakened Jim lay for a while remembering his master's words, savouring them.

But the Healer was due soon, and there was no time to explore Spock's statement. Yet it seemed that the Vulcan was gentler than usual as Jim, most of his duties now resumed, washed and dressed him.

Selek came, examined Jim's feet, nodded in satisfaction. "Now you must toughen them again," he said. "Gentle use of them at first, with extended walks each day. I would suggest sandals for outdoors," he added to Spock, who nodded.

"I was already considering that," he said.

When Selek left, the day seemed full of activity. First Jim's feet were measured for sandals; then Sarek claimed his son's attention and they went off to discuss business. Jim, left to his own devices, went in search of S'haku and spent some time in general exercise - he did not want to lose the fitness he had gained during his master's absence, especially since he was sure that the enforced rest of the last days had weakened him slightly. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that his general condition had not deteriorated.

Mindful of Selek's words, Jim than rested his feet for a while before going to see about Spock's evening meal. It was possible that his master had left orders that he would now resume eating with his parents, but no, the kitchen's orders were still to provide a separate meal in Spock's room.

Jim took up fruit and wine, setting it ready on the table; the main dish would be sent up when the family was ready to eat. Then he waited, expectant.

Spock arrived; Jim bathed him, allowing his hands to linger slightly as he did so, and thought his master not displeased. He moved to fetch Spock's robe; the Vulcan indicated that it was to be draped only around his shoulders.

There was a gentle knock, and Jim went for the tray. As he brought it to the table, Spock discarded the robe. Half startled, Jim served the appetising-smelling vegetable stew., Spock smiled at him, and indicated the space at his side.

"Sit and eat with me."

Jim obeyed, his heart thudding so hard that he was sure Spock must hear it. They ate; Spock pushed over his goblet for some more wine, then he offered it to his slave.

It was an intimacy seldom offered save to trusted friends. Almost unbearably happy, Jim sipped the wine; Spock took a mouthful, and offered the goblet again. Together they finished the wine; Spock pushed the goblet aside.

Jim could see that the Vulcan was already aroused, yet he seemed to be waiting. Waiting - for what? All he had to do was reach out and take... and then Jim knew, Spock was waiting for his response.

He stood, and turned to face his master. Deliberately, he put one knee on the bench, pushing it between Spock's slightly parted legs, so that the erect penis rested against his thigh. He reached out to put a hand behind Spock's head - with the other he gripped Spock's arm, pulling it towards him, silently asking to be held, and as Spock's hands gripped his buttocks, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to Spock's parted lips.

The hand gripping Spock's arm slid up it to hold his shoulders as Spock's tongue entered his mouth, probing sensuously. He gave a soft moan deep in his throat as he wrapped his tongue round Spock's, sucking it fiercely, all thought lost in the passionate longing to belong to Spock completely, body and soul. He was only half aware of the Vulcan's arms closing round him possessively, protectively, passionately. He had no control over his body any longer, nor did he want it. His swollen penis pressed hard against Spock; he moved his hips slightly, rubbing his genitals sensuously against the lean firm belly, and felt the hard bulk of Spock's organ pressing against his leg.

He moaned again and twisted slightly so that his genitals touched Spock's. The sensation was indescribable; and he wanted more.

He wrenched his mouth free. "Take me!" he gasped. "Please."

Spock smiled at him, and stood, scooping Jim into his arms with one quick movement. He crossed to the bed and put him down on it, throwing himself on top of him, and took possession of his mouth again, his tongue probing, exploring, tantalisingly avoiding the responsive tongue that sought to entrap it. Jim clung to him, legs parted invitingly, hips thrusting upwards hungrily. At last Spock raised his head again, and Jim gasped once more, "Take me... Please... Take me!"

"When you ask me properly, " Spock answered huskily.

Jim writhed hungrily. "I want you, master... I need you... "

"Is that all?" A gentle insistent demand.

Jim moaned. "I... love you. Please... "

The firm penis plunged deep into his body, and he finally knew the joy of yielding willingly and responsively to a partner who sought to give pleasure as well as taking it.

***

Afterwards they lay relaxed, their bodies smeared with Jim's semen, in a languor that both knew would not last. Finally, Spock's hand moved searchingly over the back of Jim's slave collar; there was a click and it came loose. Spock reached over and dropped it on the floor. His fingers moved lightly across Jim's neck, and the human moaned softly and pressed closer.

Spock propped himself on an elbow, looking down possessively; Jim looked up contentedly, smiling happily. Presumptuous? Perhaps. But it was a presumption that his master apparently wanted. He reached up and touched Spock's cheek.

"I love you."

"Jim... " The deep voice trembled.

"You... you never called me that before."

"No. I called you Shorala to remind myself that... that ever since you were captured you were sexually used... abused... that I must not abuse you. And then, when I discovered that I cared, to remember that I could not expect you to feel any affection for me, that I was just another... client... that you had to satisfy." He was silent for a  moment. "I could see that through it all you had retained... a kind of pride, certainly integrity. I felt sure you must despise us for enslaving you, and using you... "

Jim shook his head. "It's the custom here. A man's personal slave shares his bed - a fact that you grow up with. To you it is perfectly normal. No, master, the ones I despised were the ones who had to pay, the men who could not find a partner... or often, I think, the ones who wanted several partners, and had to pretend that we were willing, not bought. The ones I hated were the ones who brought me here."

"And you came to love me... Why did you never let it show?"

"I thought you wanted Shava. And I was sure... you would feel it presumption if I were to say anything to indicate that... While you were away, I used to lie here, thinking of you, wondering if you were missing me at all... I imagined you making love to me instead of just taking me. When you came back, you tended me, and at first... I thought at first... Then you said it was your responsibility to care for me, because... " He broke off, afraid that if he said anything more he would be completely unable to control the tears that threatened.

"And it is. My responsibility - and my pleasure." He was silent for a moment, then he said softly, "Jim... "

"Yes, master?"

"I do not know how to 'make love'. Teach me." He spoke very tenderly.

"Teach... "

"Love me." His voice trembled again.

Jim rolled him over to lie on his back, waiting; Jim bent and kissed his mouth, lightly at first, then with increasing passion. He raised his head to look down into the Vulcan's eyes, then with a low moan he lowered his head once more, to run urgent lips over Spock's face, neck, shoulders. He teased the Vulcan's nipples erect, nipping them gently between his teeth, and Spock gasped.

Jim reached down to curl his fingers around the Vulcan's semi-erect penis, playing with it while his mouth returned to claim Spock's. His tongue explored freely for a moment, then it was trapped and avidly sucked. He moved his hand, caressing, seeking out the erotic areas that experience had told him could arouse the most impotent of Vulcan males, wondering what response these caresses would produce in the already responsive Spock.

Spock writhed against him, gasping, whimpering in ecstasy. "Take me! Jim, take me!"

And Jim took him, plunging deep into him in uncontrollable love.

***

They woke, still snuggled together, to discover that desire was again active in them both. Spock, kissed Jim's throat tenderly and the Human smiled.

"That's nice," he murmured.

"Truly?" Spock asked, almost shyly.

"Mmm. Do it again."

Spock obliged, and Jim sighed contentedly. "Will you always take my collar off at night so that you can kiss me like that?"

"Jim, don't you understand?" Spock asked.

"Understand?"

"You don't have to wear that collar ever again," Spock told him. "These scars... " He touched a finger lightly to the base of Jim's neck where the collar had chafed over the years until the skin finally hardened.

"But a slave is always collared."

"Jim, I've taken it off. That means I've freed you."

"Free?" Jim whispered. Confused emotions washed over him. Finally - "I don't want to leave you."

"You don't need to. It is customary for a freedman to continue to serve the same family, although he can leave any time he wants. Jim - you will stay with me?"

"I said I don't want to leave you. And after what we've just shared, do you really need to ask me?"

"I just wanted to hear you say it again."

"Oh, Spock! I want to stay with you. Keep me near you - please."

"Always."

Their lips met in a long, gentle kiss that rapidly gained in passion.

***

Afterwards they dragged themselves unwillingly out of bed. They shared the bath, washing each other, and afterwards Spock firmly dressed Jim in one of his own robes.

"You are free now," he reminded him.

"How will your parents react?" Jim asked nervously.

"I do not think they will be surprised. What of Shem and Thronga and the other slaves?" Spock enquired.

"They know I love you. But... I think they will be surprised. They also thought you still wanted Shava."

"Were you jealous?" Spock asked gently.

"Yes, I was for a while - but Shem told me you had never had Shava. And... I'll try not to be, when you marry."

"I may not marry. It is only required that we father children; a donation of sperm for artificial insemination of widows and women whose men are sterile is perfectly acceptable. I donated several times while I was away, and know that at least one of the women has conceived as a result, although I do not, of course, know who she is. Having done that, I am held to have done my duty to the race, and may continue to donate or not as I see fit. There will be no pressure put on me to marry, as there is on men who have neither found a wife nor donated sperm. However, I think that I will have none to spare, now; I will be giving it all to you."

"Was that what you did... instead of using one of the slaves provided, when you wanted sex?"

"Yes. I couldn't have you. I didn't much want anyone else. It seemed a good idea to put the time to good use."

"I'm glad."

Spock smiled. "You wouldn't have liked hearing that I'd used someone else; would you?"

"No."

They had reached the dining room door by now. Spock pulled Jim close for a moment, then released him and turned to open the door, and then side by side they entered, to face the reactions of the household.

***

As a freedman, Jim had far more freedom of movement than he had known, even while Spock was away, for he could choose many of his own pursuits.

He had already learned the use of all weapons other than lirpa and ahn woon, and now Spock began to teach him the use of these. Memory of the lessons he had watched helped him, and he soon had a competent grasp of their use, sufficient to hold his own with most Vulcans who had no military experience other than that provided by their compulsory three month's service. Vulcan had once been a highly warlike race, Spock told him, but several generations previously a great religious leader named Surak had convinced most of his contemporaries that fighting among themselves was pointless. Since then, although training was compulsory, few Vulcans ever fought in earnest, and scientific advance had been considerable. Spaceflight had been a chance breakthrough some fifty years previously; since then the more warlike Vulcans had gone into space. So far, however, they had not encountered any other race of comparable technological achievement, although one race, the Klingons, had matched them for fighting capacity. Raiding the Klingons for slaves had proved too costly, and they had reached an uneasy peace with them; the two races did some trading, and Vulcan-captured alien slaves always sold well on Klingonia, although to protect a highly lucrative market, there was a strict quota enforced; only one percent of all slaves captured were taken to Klingonia.

In addition, fifty percent of all male slaves were taken by the Government and put to work on giant building projects – dams and roads; although most private individuals of any standing had air cars, most Vulcans did not, and were tied to ground transport, which was also widely used to transport freight. Attempts to circumvent the law by bringing in only females had failed; with typical efficiency, the Government had fined any trader who failed to bring in at least half his cargo in males, the equivalent of three-quarters of his income from the sale of slaves for that trip. Once was enough to prove that it would be cheaper bringing in the government's quota of males… even young ones.

Jim knew that he might never learn all the complexities of Vulcan life, but he also knew that he didn't need to worry about it; whatever happened, Spock would. keep him right.

And above all, he was happy.

The family had accepted his freedom almost as if they had expected it; and Spock loved him. Even the slaves who were now so much below him in status had accepted it cheerfully, glad for his sake, and he was careful to do nothing that might make them hate him; never forgetting that he had been luckier than they, through no merit of his own but merely through chance.

He and Spock were seldom apart. Even in the nearby town, residents soon grew accustomed to the sight of Vulcan and freed Human together, their joy in each other plain to see. Jim occasionally saw one or another of the clients of S'tavrik's, but either they did not recognise him - few had paid much attention to his face - or they did not choose to. In a way, Jim was surprised to see any of S'tavrik's clients here, in this small town, but after some thought he realised that it was unlikely that a town this size would boast a House of Pleasure; any men looking for such a diversion would have to make their way to the nearest large towns, just as Sarek had done when he went to buy a slave to serve Spock's need.

On this occasion there were several shops Spock required to visit: for speed they split up, since Jim knew exactly what Spock wanted, arranging to meet back at their air car.

As he left the second shop on his list, Jim was aware of the faintest premonition of danger. Before he could act on it, a rough hand grabbed his shoulder and pressed; he fell, unconscious.

***

He regained consciousness in a vaguely familiar room, and looked about him, puzzled. Who would dare...

"Welcome back, Shorala."

He stiffened, That voice... He turned his head slowly towards the door, horribly aware of the collar that again encircled his neck, and looked straight into the leering face of S'tavrik.

"You sold me," he said. "You have no right..."

"You were not wearing a collar. I have not stolen you from anyone - merely repossessed you. You cannot, after all, prove that you were ever officially freed - there is nothing to distinguish a freedman from a slave who has managed to run away and rid himself of his collar."

"What do you want of me? If I was too old to serve here two years ago, I am older still now."

"True. But I made a mistake in selling you, Shorala. I did not then realise the value of breeding my own stock. The supply of Human slaves from source has ceased; Humans have accomplished a most sophisticated means of defence - they can detect our ships while they are still barely in the atmosphere and have explosive weapons of remarkable accuracy which they use as soon as an unidentified vessel appears. It is even possible that in due course we may approach your planet and suggest a trade agreement similar to the one we have with Klingonia. And yet Human slaves are in great demand, especially in my trade. So I have bought several particularly handsome Human females. And you are the most appealing human male I ever owned - so much so that I kept you a full year longer than I would otherwise have done. Your offspring should be thoroughbreds indeed. And trained from infancy, the boys will certainly be worth high prices in the House. The girls can be bred from you in their turn as soon as they are old enough; one generation will not cause any problems of inbreeding. You will be kept busy, Shorala."

Jim drew a deep breath. "I have no interest in women - you saw to that when you first brought me here."

"Interest has nothing to do with breeding them. But if you cannot... shall we say rise to the occasion, it will be a simple matter for a man... myself, I think... to milk the semen from you for artificial insemination. Yes, and then I can enjoy your charms. I am going to enjoy this, Shorala."

***

But if S'tavrik enjoyed it, Jim certainly did not. The brothel keeper wasted no time. He did not even give Jim the chance to show if he was willing to co-operate; having decided that he could enjoy his ex-slave, he decided that he certainly would. And when it became obvious that Jim intended resistance, he simply called two of his attendants, and had Jim's arms tied and his legs held.

He approached the Human expectantly, reaching out as he had done that first day all those years before. His touch revolted Jim - oily, slimy, it contrasted so horribly with Spock's loving tenderness. Jim fought to remain unmoved, but S'tavrik had been a brothel keeper too long not to know every trick there was, and he found the places that made Jim writhe with unerring ease. Still Jim fought against being aroused, desperately trying to think of something - anything - that would help him to defeat his kidnapper. But his body betrayed him; his penis swelled uncontrollably, the long fingers curled round it and milked him expertly. Semen spurted into the special container placed ready for it, and another attendant hurried out with it.

"And now, my unwilling slave... " S'tavrik said, a gloating purr in his voice. The two attendants wrenched Jim's legs apart. S'tavrik opened his robe, revealing his erection; aroused by milking the Human, he was now hungry for satisfaction. Jim tried to struggle, but was held firm; and he felt his body penetrated. He lay still thereafter, refusing any response, but S'tavrik seemed unconcerned by that; he thrust hard and fast, and quickly achieved climax. He withdrew, to smile with a satisfaction that filled Jim with horror.

"Yes, Shorala, l am definitely going to enjoy this.". He looked at his two assistants, noting the bulge at the groin of both their robes, and his smile widened. "Carry on," he told them, "I will not require either of you for the next hour."

Without a backward glance he strode out; and Jim shuddered as he waited to be violated by the two attendants who were clearly intent on making full use of the hour's freedom they had been given.

***

Days passed, turning into weeks. S'tavrik made full use of him, and in addition permitted his attendants to use him almost any time they wanted once his day's donation of semen had been taken. Finally, the day came when the brothel keeper informed his unwilling slave that two of the girls were confirmed pregnant,

Jim received the news with dull apathy. What did it matter?

What did anything matter?

There was nothing he could do; he was closely guarded, seldom left alone -and in this inner room of the brothel there was not even a window. Spock would search for him, he knew; but how could Spock find him here? The thought of Spock's unhappiness was like a dagger in his heart. He submitted to S'tavrik and his men without protest but without active response. S'tavrik would never have the satisfaction of finding him willing and co-operative!

***

Then one day there was sudden noise outside the door; angry voices were raised, and he shifted wearily. So often he had heard such a din - it usually denoted someone who felt he had been cheated and was trying to claim that the boy he had bought had been unsatisfactory, in the hope of getting away without paying.

Instead of passing on, however, the noise of the scuffle intensified, and then the door was thrown open. A group of young men stood in the doorway, and he gazed at them without hope. Any appeal for help would only be met by laughter. And yet - some of the faces looked familiar. Surely -

He sat up, but before he could say anything, a voice was calling, "Here!"

The group parted, making way for one more man.

"Spock!"

The Vulcan moved quickly. "Jim... Jim - are you all right?"

"I am now."

"Did he hurt you?"

"Not hurt, but... Oh, Spock! He... he... "

Spock gathered him close, "You're safe now, Jim." His fingers found the fastening of the collar mud released it. Then he looked round at his friends. "Where is he?"

Two of his friends dragged S'tavrik forward. They had stripped off his rich robes; he stood, naked, pale and trembling. Spock looked coldly at him.

"You kidnapped my freedman," he said icily. "Kidnapped him and used him for your own purposes, whatever those were."

"He milked me," Jim said, shakily but determined, "to inseminate Human women. He wanted to breed himself Human slaves because he said no more were being taken from Earth. Then after he milked me, he used me for his own satisfaction - and let his servants use me too."

"You are entirely without honour," Spock told S'tavrik. "You wronged me, and you more than wronged my freedman. It is our right to enslave you. He took the step forward that brought him beside S'tavrik and with one quick movement fastened the collar around his neck.

"No! No!" S'tavrik cried.

"You will be sold at the next public auction. As for this property, which is now ours... Jim, have you any suggestions?"

"Some of the women are pregnant, he told me. I would... like to see them... freed, given enough money to support them. The other slaves, the boys in the House, would perhaps be best off given to good masters - I know you can't free them all. Everything else could be sold..."

"And the money from the sale is yours, Jim, for the primary wrong was done to you. Somar - see to it for us."

"Yes, Spock."

"Now - I must take Jim home. He is in need of rest."

From somewhere a robe was produced and Spock slipped it around the Human, then he put an arm protectively around him and guided him out.

Jim remained silent until they were in the privacy of Spock's air car. Then, shakily, he said, "I tried to struggle but he had me held. It was less humiliating to submit. But I never responded to him."

"You don't need to tell me that."

"I think he hoped you'd believe that I'd lied to you to gain my freedom, then run off... I was sure you'd look for me, but I didn't dare hope you'd find me."

"It took time. He had hidden you well, but one of his servants drank too much at the spring festival and it made him indiscreet; he spoke too loudly in the ear of a friend, talking of a slave S'tavrik was keeping for his own use, and one of my friends overheard. I took the chance that it was you.”

"What if it had not been?"

"There would have been a penalty... but one I was prepared to pay."

"What was it?"

"He would have had the right to enslave me for a false accusation, but I had arranged that in that event a friend would buy me and free me. All it would have cost me was the right ever to become a Warrior - and I do not much want to become a Warrior."

Jim caught a quick breath. Spock had spoken lightly, but... "You were prepared to suffer that... for me... "

Spock was silent for a moment. "A man has responsibilities to his slaves and his freedmen - especially when they are trusted... and loved."

"Oh, Spock!" Deeply moved, Jim caught Spock's hand and lifted it to his lips. Spock gripped his fingers tightly in response.

"We had... better get home. If we delay much longer, I may not be able to control myself."

***

Jim was surprised at the enthusiasm with which he was welcomed back. On the other hand, nobody was surprised when Spock, after a short time, claimed Jim's attention and took him off to their bedroom.

Inside, he drew Jim into the protective circle of his arms; Jim clung to him, responding avidly to his kiss. Their robes dropped to the floor, and they followed, too impatient even to move to the bed, and there on the floor, just inside the door, Jim yielded in passionate and willing surrender, clinging even more urgently as climax shuddered through them.

Afterwards Spock carried Jim to the bed. The Human lay trustingly in the possessive arms, smiling into the dark, gentle eyes that studied him so intently.

"You have given a successful donation for artificial insemination," Spock said at last.

"Enforced - but yes."

"Freedmen also are subject to the same rules as the freeborn," Spock said reflectively. "Once they have given a successful donation, no pressure will ever be put on them to marry. Somar will check on the reported pregnancies for certification and confirmation, and once you have it you are a completely free agent."

"I'm glad - I don't want to marry, I want to stay with you."

"That brings me to something I must mention. I now hope to be bonded sometime in the not too distant future."

Jim's face went white, but remembering what he had once said - 'I will try not to be jealous' - he said nothing, and Spock smiled.

"You don't like it - but you're determined to let me have what I want without protest," he said softly.

From deathly white Jim's face went fiery red, and Spock's smile intensified. "Aren't you?" he pressed.

"Yes," Jim whispered.

"Good. You will make me a most satisfactory bondmate."

It took a minute to sink in. "I... "

"Do you really think I would risk losing you again? If we are bonded you become a full Vulcan citizen. I've had this in mind for a while, but I couldn't think of how to manage it - before two males can legally bond, both must have donated successfully, and, more important, both must possess a certain amount of property or money. The first requirement would have been easily accomplished, but the second was more difficult. I couldn't just give you enough money, for our combined income would have been no greater than mine alone is known to be. But now you will have the money from the sale of S'tavrik and his house - Somar knows my mind and will see it fetches a good price. There is no obstacle to a bond between us."

"But I'm Human - brought here as a slave."

"And freed for faithful service. No, beloved, those are not obstacles. Please, Jim, bond with me."

"I said I would let you have whatever you wanted." Jim couldn't resist the urge to keep Spock on tenterhooks for a moment.

"Yes... but do you also truly want it? If you don't... I won't insist."

Jim pulled him close. "Of course I want it! Oh Spock... How soon can it be?2

Spock's hands cupped his head. "The declaration before witnesses can come any time, but if you want, the bond can be formed now."

"Yes."

"You are sure? Because once formed, the bond cannot be broken, even by death."

"Even without the bond I belong to you, Spock. Nothing can change that. Yes, I am sure,"

"Open your mind to me... "

Jim felt pressure on his mind, a presence seeking to enter. Once or twice one of S'tavrik's clients had felt the need to rape his mind as well as his body, and he had disliked the sensation; now his mind reached out willingly, eagerly, welcomingly.

/Jim.../

/I am here./

/I enter./

/You are welcome./ The warmth of that welcome made the Vulcan gasp.

/You are mine, Jim. As I am yours./

/I am yours... and you are mine!/ Jim's thought was suddenly totally possessive.

/We are one - never and always touching and touched./

/Never and always... touching... and touched... /

/The bond is formed. Jim - kiss me!/

Jim smiled and leaned forward, lips slightly parted.

It was incredible. Joy/pleasure encircled them, and they clung hungrily together. At last they broke the long, passionate embrace, gasping for breath, and stared at each other.

"I don't understand," Jim said, "Shem told me that even if you married you'd probably sleep with me more than with your wife. But if that's what the bonding does,.."

Spock replied very tenderly. /It is because we already love each other. With a stranger, the bond would merely have served to join us. But because we have chosen this, each desiring the other's happiness, we experience the full joy of the bond./ His hands explored Jim's body lightly and they shivered together as Jim's mind reflected back his pleasure.

/Shorala,/ Spock's mind whispered.

Jim's mind laughed delightedly. The once-hated name had suddenly become a tender love name.

/Let me show you how much pleasure I can give,/ he thought tenderly, seductively, as he pushed Spock down and knelt over him.

His lips explored Spock's body, drawing  a line of fire from his throat to a nipple to stimulate it into erection, then across to the other nipple, then on down to the semi-erect penis.

He had never liked oral sex, but now he kissed Spock's penis tenderly and willingly, running his lips over every part of it. He found the big vein and nibbled up it to draw the head lovingly into his mouth. His tongue caressed the smooth velvet, half surprised to discover that for the first time in his life he was enjoying the sensation. He sucked gently, and Spock moaned softly. Jim raised his head, and Spock whispered, "Don't stop... " He could feel Spock's pleasure, and wanted to prolong it; prolong his own. He turned his attention to the soft flesh of Spock's thighs, caressing with gentle fingertips, gentle lips. He wanted to taste the swollen penis again, and began to caress it with his tongue, licking sensuously while his hand kneaded the firm testicles, relishing the power he had over the Vulcan.

"Please, Jim... " Spock moaned, and he laughed up at him.

/Not yet/ he thought /I'm enjoying you too much to finish yet. I want to enjoy you more yet... I want you to enjoy me./

His fingers sought out the sensitive places that he knew gave Spock most pleasure, and he writhed with the Vulcan as the mind link let him share the stimulation. Spock's hips thrust upwards uncontrollably; his need filled Jim, and the Human responded to it. He straddled Spock's body, positioning himself carefully, then slowly sank down, impaling himself, feeling the rigid penis penetrate deeper and deeper in possessive ecstasy. When his buttocks pressed hard against Spock's groin and he could no longer force the swollen organ deeper into himself, he murmured, "Is that good?"

"Yes... "

Jim tightened his muscles in rhythmic stimulation, milking the invading penis. Spock thrust upwards against him in time to the rhythm, one hand fondling Jim's engorged organ,  and their release joined them in a mindless joy.

Slowly, Spock raised his head to look down into Jim's eyes. /That was... indescribable./

Jim smiled. /You want me to do that to you again?/

/You know I do./

They lay quietly, pressing close, their minds adjusting to the new duality. Spock could not resist one question.

/Do you now regret having been brought to Vulcan?/

/Regret? No. I am even grateful to the slaver who captured me. He brought me home./

And their mouths met in a long, tender kiss of pure love.

 


End file.
